The Wind Up Girl
by hulksmashed
Summary: "Each moment spent in my arms is another breath taken from her, and I cannot bare it any longer," Hermione cried. "Her heart is meant for another and while I have tried to find another path, I know that there is none," she confessed. Love for a Veela is more often than not a wondrous thing to behold, but for Fleur it is torment. To refuse is her death.
1. Chapter 1

Fleur had the habit of sleeping in during the mornings. She would curl her arm over her lover and at times she was quite settled on lapping her entire self over her. That was an agreement, something not altogether discussed but Hermione was rather taken by it and accepted it. That being said, having grown quite accustomed to the act, Hermione was thrown a loop when her eyes fluttered open one raining morn. Finding her bed absent and missing of a particularly radiant blond.

"Fleur?" she called in question. Her arms resting upward as she lifted herself from the mattress. Silence answered her, and curiosity then beckoned as Hermione willed her tired form from the embroidered quilt and feathered comforter. The pitter patter of her bare toes pressed against the wooden floorboards as she rustled groggily from the bedroom and down the hall.

Of course, it hadn't taken long to find her. It was after all, a dingy flat with one bed and a somewhat functional bath. Hermione had taken mere steps in search before finding her missing possession. Fleur Delacour, a crumpled heap against the bathroom tiles, balled together at her knees, asleep and shivering on the ground at her feet.

Hermione sighed, bending to the girl's level as a hand rest to her forehead. "Oh Fleur," she breathed. Fleur muttered in her native tongue, delirious as she curled tighter into herself. "Merlin, you're burning up," she stated, most likely to herself as she brushed a cautious hand through her lover's dampened hair.

Expelling a tired breath, Hermione touched her arm. Nudging her with a gentleness, as if not to startle her, Hermione tugged her upward. "Come on, darling, let's get you to bed," she urged. Her tone a soothing lull despite her growing frustration. "You should have woke me," Hermione muttered, though hearing her heart's painful moans in response quieted her argument as she carefully helped Fleur to her feet. Her arms encased around her as she first leant her against the counter.

"Je suis si froid, bébé," whimpered Fleur, and a careful touch would soothe her as Hermione willed her closer. Intentionally her face pressing against the blonde as she used her own flesh to read her temperature.

"I know you are, love," Hermione murmured. In a glance she caught Fleur's reddened eyes. Her heart leapt in her throat, irrational and worrisome thoughts then crept to her mind as her thumb brushed against her lips. "I need you up on the counter a moment, alright?" she questioned, a nurturing request as her hands fell to rest at the blonde's side.

Unresponsive, Fleur leant against her lover, her hands resting atop Hermione's shoulders as she cried. "Ça fait mal, Hermione," she sobbed, her expression more than telling of her pain, and holding her upright Hermione's arms than lowered to her legs.

"Come on, up you go, love," she motioned. Hermione braced herself as she lifted the blonde up and set her against the counter, steadying them both for a moment as she paused. "Sit still a minute, Fleur, can you do that for me?" she questioned, and the inquiry was honored a nod. Hesitant to leave her, Hermione hands scathed upward against Fleur's toned legs. Rubbing them in a soothing matter as her head bumped against her own. "I'll be two minutes, I promise," she stated, and with that she scurried from the room. Sleep having long since abandoned her as she rushed down the hall.

Hermione cursed herself, and that of her lover as she proceeded for the kitchen. Cabinet to cabinet her hands fumbling in search for her lover's tonic. "Damnit, where the bloody hell are you?" she heaved, frenzied in her movements as she ran about the room.

"Please don't do this to me, not today," she said, and near timed to her confession Hermione sighted the plum tinted potion and nearing tears Hermione sighed. "Oh, thank Merlin," she grumbled, and turning on her heels she spun towards the bathroom.

She found Fleur moment's later leant against the wall but still propped atop the counter. Relieved, Hermione gathered a syringe from the bathroom drawer. Her hands trembling as if it were her first time with the needle. Though in her opinion these moments ever seldom felt as if it were the first time, every time as she sought to control herself. "This is going to help you, Fleur," Hermione promised. She tapped the syringe as she finished filling it with the potion; measuring the milligrams and testing the point of the needle before she lifted the blonde's shirt.

"Take a deep breath for me now, it's almost over," she coaxed, and Fleur with such innocence smiled. Inhaling deeply, she obliged. "That's it, darling, good," Hermione replies, and plunging the needle through flesh, Fleur tensed at the contact. "It's alright, I have you," the brunette muttered. Fleur's sputtered moans filled the quiet halls as the medicine seeped through her veins.

"I have you," she whispered. Hoping that her words held more than their worth as the syringe dropped against the drain, Fleur's pleas echoing through the morning.


	2. Chapter 2

"It's happened again," and she needn't tell him more as Hermione heard his brief expel of breath expand through the crackled pop of the fireplace as she leant into the warmth of the fire. "I thought perhaps it would lessen," she murmured. "I thought that if her dosages had increased then the nights terrors wouldn't be so frequent, however they've worsened," Hermione confessed. The fire dimmed, the hearth reflecting that of her friend's own trepidation as he sighed. "Each moment spent in my arms is another breath taken from her," she mused, and it wasn't far from the truth.

In accordance to scribbled parchments and tombs that Hermione had long since committed to memory; a heart bound was eternal. It was a thirst unquenched, and if ever a person were not receptive of that love, of that heart entwined with their own it was a hopeless undertaking, as both would suffer.

"Am I truly so selfish, Harry?" she questioned.

Peering through the flames Hermione imagined her unruly haired friend rubbing his tired eyes. "You're not to blame for this 'Mione, neither is Fleur, and I won't hear a word that tells me otherwise," he reproached, and the fire crackled and popped in response. "She's in the middle stages of it's progression, Hermione, her recovery isn't going to happen overnight, but you have to hold onto hope," he paused. "I understand your fears, Hermione, I do, but you have to give this time—"

"She's near catatonic come morning, Harry," Hermione sputtered with a bitterness unseen in the brunette as she cried. "She can't even lift a spoon most days, let alone dress herself."

Leaning towards the flames, Hermione sighed. "You haven't a clue as to what she's going through. You haven't the slightest idea of the months I have spent dreading the morning she's not breathing," she spat. Her dearest friend had tread through his own turmoil in the past, that much was certain in their time together, but Hermione would not stand for him to tell her that he understood. "I, more than other's know that you carry your scars, Harry. Those that have yet to heal, but do not dare compare those wounds to mine."

He couldn't respond and in honesty, Hermione hadn't wanted him to. She couldn't face another pitied murmur. Hermione couldn't, and she would not hear it from him of all people. He should have known better, and for that reason alone she twitched her wand with an absent swish of her wrist. "You have your love's heart, Harry," she muttered. "Mine is on borrowed time," with that the bubbling furnace dwindled. The light of the fire falling and that of her friend's presence fading as she sat in the gloom of dim lit candlelight.

She gathered a tattered knit sweater from the arm of the cushioned sofa and rustled through the clutter of the main hall. Opening the terrace door, Hermione stepped out into the crisp autumn air as she inhaled. It was moments later that she would notice her lovers lithe voice sifting behind her.

"Venir au lit, bébé," Fleur whispered, her enunciation stilted and stumbling from her reverie Hermione loosened her hand against the banister.

"In a moment, love," the brunette responds, and on a half pleaded demand she then added softly, "it's cold, wait for me inside."

Though adamant, Fleur's bare toes stepped out onto marbled tiles, her breath hitched in her throat as she warmth of their home escaped her. Her hand glided against the railing to maintain her balance, a gracing smile hiding her exhaustion. "But if I am to wait for you inside, then there is no one here to keep you warm," she exclaimed. Her arms encircling her from behind, the question telling of her intentions as she propped her chin atop the brunette's shoulders. Nestled against her, Fleur kisses her neck. "I am not so bed stricken that I cannot hold you, mon coeur," she hummed, and her touch tempted the younger witch as Hermione leant against her.

"Crookshanks was near beside himself, come to find you missing from the bed," Fleur replied. The mere mention of his name and the mewling nip of the feline was heard, his tail sashaying in a bushy knot as he roamed the corridor. Hermione shivered, and sensing her discomfort Fleur tucked her close. "I also was concerned," she exclaimed.

Hermione turned in her lover's arms. Trailing a hand down her lover's waist her finger brushed the forming bruise that rest on her stomach. "How are you feeling?" she questioned. Her other hand rose to feel for her temperature though in her efforts Fleur took it with a smile.

"You have spent months with these worries, bébé," the blonde stated. Gathering her tighter in her arms, a graceful nudge and she gestured inside. "I would much rather have you spend them with me, non?" she said, and Hermione could not argue you with that notion. Though she was not ignorant of the blonde's tired eyes either. Nor the added weight that leant against her shoulder as Fleur cautioned her steps against the cold cement. "Now, allow me to take care of you this once, fille douce," pleaded the young Veela. Conceding, Hermione sighed. She followed in the blonde's footsteps; a hand steadied around her waist as she guided her to their bedroom.

* * *

Harry Potter slumped in the chair, head buried in his hand as the dimmed furnace prickled in absence of the smoldered heat. "I understand you're reasoning behind it, Ginny, but I have to go," he continued. Their arguments were scarce but this was a conversation that had long since delved in between them. Unaddressed, neither broached the topic, but it lingered in the air with a stale presence, and tonight he needn't bother with his confession. Ginny was well aware of his intentions, and pacing round the room she made it known her own as she pinched her brow.

"This is not a decision that I approve of," she sighed. "I care for Hermione as well, sincerely at that, but this is not the answer."

Harry had gathered his luggage a time ago. He needn't much, a batch of potions here and there, and clothes which were now undoubtedly crinkled in his satchel. It was nearing twelve months since Harry had seen his friend last. "Hermione is more than a friend to me, love," he mused, "she's been a sister, one that I have long since hoped for."

"I have let our friendship drift over time, and I haven't been there for her as I should have and I regret that immensely," Harry murmured. "She hasn't a soul to hold her up through this, Ginerva, and the one that wants to can barely stand."

"Who I am to abandoned her through this?" Harry thought aloud. Rising from the chair as he clutched his luggage in face of his troubled fiancée. "She has never abandoned me, Ginny. Not once."

Hermione had kept him going, had kept him living through the war, and despite so much that had stepped in their path since then, her stance had never wavered. Not once, when so many others had left him to rot, Hermione had preferred to rot with him, and for that Harry could not sit idly by. "She needs a friend, love," he replied.

"She isn't without fault, Ginny, none of us are," Harry continued. He sensed the trail of betrayal that lit in his soon-to-be bride, her eyes simmering in a spite untold but even then he carried on. "Hermione has made her mistakes. Plenty, to have you turn blind from this, and I don't blame you for it either," Harry continued.

"Though I will not ignore it this time. I can't, and please do not ask it of me."

Ginerva Weasley trained her stare against the wooden threshold. Recalling the eruptive morning Hermione's mistakes had torn her family apart, ripping them from the seams as she left them seemingly without a care. Remembering Ronald as his tear stained confessions mumbled from his lips. Reclling her brother and his hysteric ramblings through a half emptied casement of fire whiskey, as he spoke to her of Hermione's absence. Their nuptials ruined, years together suddenly meaningless to her. Ginny thought of the past as if it were mere minutes from the present as she sighed.

"You're to contact me when you've arrived, not a minute after, do you understand me, Harry Potter?" she ordered. Her own heart relieved as the hardened expression knitted upon Harry's brow had softened. Ginny stepped into his embrace, the scent of him entrapping her as she smiled. "I haven't it in me to keep you from something you're wanting," Ginny declared. Her hand plucking at a loosened button on his collar as she pried at it's string in absence. "You're a wise and kind man, Harry," she whispered. "I would be a fool to deny you your wishes, even when I am so set against them."

She interrupts him, a finger nudged on his lips. "I am set against them out of spite, love, and you are the piece of me that reminds me of this," Ginny answered. "That reminds me to have a heart."

Harry smiled, a hand cradling her cheek. "You've the kindest heart I know, darling, you simply refuse to see it," he replied.

He left soon after. Their embrace then was still remnant on her mind, his touch ghosting over her flesh even as the door would close between them.


	3. Chapter 3

Author's Note: Thank you for those peeping out to give me their opinions I do love the support, please keep it up. This is the last chapter you'll see for the week as work returns tomorrow and I will be a slave to the clock until further notice. I hope you're all enjoying, and again feedback is always appreciated.

* * *

_"You must forgive me," Fleur whispered, shame reddening her cheeks, and for a moment she wished she were invisible. "I had thought perhaps we would have been left supplies, something to aid us," she spoke, to her embarrassment more to herself than Hermione as she rung her hands. Hermione, her shoulders set with caution fed her remorse as she muttered on. Hands shaking as she reached for a damp cloth, the other holding gauze and ointment she had gathered from the girl's tattered belongings. Things she knew little of when a bottle of potion or a muttered word with a wand could right the wrongs with a mere twitch of the wrist. Fleur Delacour sighed._

_"I had hoped a vial of dittany, or sleeping draught but in this home there nothing," Fleur whispered, staring hopeless at the medicinal bandages held in her hands. "I wished to help you more efficiently, though with these I know so little of their purpose—"_

_"It's alright, I can manage," Hermione spoke, and holding her breath, Fleur's heart tightened. So odd that merely a handful of words could render her speechless._

_Outside the sanction of her cottage, the others were gathered around the resting place of their dearest friend Dobby the house elf. Luna Lovegood had plucked a bed of lilies from the distant field ahead of them. Harry Potter kneeled at the mount of soil in silence as Ron with his head trodden studied the clouded skies up above and while Fleur had not known the elf she was grateful for a such a selfless act as her eyes returned to the trembling girl before her._

_"I have run a bath for you as well," she continued. "I am afraid that I could not find for you a set of clothes in your size," she explained. "Though perhaps for the time being if you would wear some of my own," she started as she faltered for the words in English. "I am a sight taller, but your clothes are rung to dry and—"_

_"Thank you," Hermione whispered, and Fleur lifted her head at the sudden interruption. The anguish that crept upon the brunette's doe brown eyes was a thing most haunting to the blonde as she straightened her stance_

_"You mustn't ever thank me, Hermione," she replied in earnest._

_In response Hermione had tucked her knees closer to her chest. Her voice small but in that long stretch of silence held between them, it was then in that moment that she felt at last she could breathe as she murmured in reply, "I know."_

_Hesitant, Fleur continued towards her in caution. "If you would let me, I will tend to your wounds," she said, her accent a rasp against the strain that built in her throat as she spared a glance towards the girl's mangled wrist. Cruel and bloodied the scribbled scrawl against her flesh had Fleur simmering. "Mon Dieu, qu'est-ce qu'elle a fait," she muttered, her expression one of the purest hatred as her finger hovered over the harsh and mangled wrist._

_Hermione would not meet her eyes, ashamed as she made the motion for her sleeve; to push it over the opened wound, though in a rushed movement Fleur stopped her. Holding her arm with a gentleness as she sighed. "Non, do not hide it," she urged. "You have suffered terribly, but that does not take away from your spirit."_

_"Our scars tell us of how far we have come, Hermione. Of how much you have persevered," she exclaimed in a breath. "Not ever does it show weakness," Fleur added. Her hand rising to touch the girl's battered cheek as she smiled. "It is telling only of your strength, mon coeur, do not hide it."_

_Hermione, having stood tensed in her presence since her arrival, would not once shrivel from the woman's touch as she complied. Fleur tending to her wounds as night would soon fall around them._

It was not long after that moment together, that Hermione found she could leave the other girl's side. That even when she found herself enveloped in her best friend's arms. His warmth a comfort and a gesture she had loved and longed for, all so suddenly her feelings had changed.

Hermione smiled at the memories that lingered through the cottage halls. Remembering how Fleur had cared for her. How the blonde had shown such precision, such carefulness with her hands. Each movement having held with it a promise to never hurt her, to always protect her as she bandaged her arm to perfection.

Though that which the home had captured in memories had not all been pleasant, Hermione thought, as a chill ghosted over her flesh. Holding the blonde that slept in her arms with a feverish grasp as she remembered.

_She stepped through the cottage door with a huff of breath, not a bit of her surprised at the clothes that littered the entrance as she resisted a droll rolling of her eyes. "Merlin, that woman shall never learn," she grumbled. Wondering to herself if the French were aware of the actual purpose of a coat rack as she stepped over a petticoat and scarf. Careful to dodge a set of fuchsia colored heels in the process as she set her purse with a thump against the nearest countertop._

_While she was perhaps used to the mess of the home by now, she was not accustomed to the sudden quiet of the cottage. Letting her worries be known, Hermione called through the quiet hall._

_"Fleur, darling, where are you?" she waited for a response, but having heard nothing Hermione tilted her head as she stared expectant for a moment down the corridor. Something told her to be cautious as she then stepped down the hall. "Fleur?" Hermione questioned, and straining her ears she stiffened. The sound of shattered glass timed with the stop of her heart, and with her wand in hand Hermione hurried toward the sound. Unaware of what she would find though prepared for anything, she braced herself as she started toward the bedroom…_

"Your mind is wandering, mon amour."

Startled, there was a moment then that passed over them, as Hermione re-adjusted to her surroundings. Fleur, propped on her elbows, examined the brunette with a thoughtful expression as she tucked a strand of stray hair behind her ear. "Do you wish to tell me what it is you are thinking?" she questioned, never pressing the other to reveal her secrets and Hermione loved her for it as she kissed her lips.

"I love you, Fleur," she replied, and not expecting of the adoration returning her kiss, the Veela smiled.

"Such a troubling expression you have, for one claiming to be in love," she teased, her finger nudging her lover's nose in hopes of a laugh. Hermione grinned, a bashful and radiant beam that spread against lips so soft that Fleur could not help but touch them. "That is much better," she exclaimed. Relieved to bring a smile to her lover's lips as she then returns the girl's confession.

"Je t'aime trop, Hermione," Fleur replied, and for a moment Hermione could lie to herself as she imagined then that everything would be alright. Though even as her words graced the air that surrounded them, Hermione knew it was not all so simple. Though perhaps for now she could pretend, as she sighed.


	4. Chapter 4

Author's Note: I didn't get any feedback this time, but the views for the story are encouraging enough. Thank you to all those adding me to their alerts and favorites. This isn't edited, and it's quite early in the morning so I'm bound to have a mistake here or there, or everywhere. I'll polish it up, once I've reviewed over it, but I thought I would go on and publish it. Thanks again.

* * *

_In an instant he had clamped his hand over her mouth; the other pinning her wrist behind her as she groaned. "Little birdie told me you prefer a woman's touch, love," he slurred, the stench of liquor hot on his breath and though behind her she could not see his sneer, she needn't face the animal to know that it lingered as he snarled against her. "I couldn't believe it, their whispers," he muttered. In a pause he pushed against her, a boot spreading apart her legs as he grunted. "How could that be when your heart is bound to mine."_

_She moaned, and enticed at the sound he perceived it as an invitation as he breathed a laugh. "Struggle if you'd prefer, though I reckon your sister might keep her innocence tonight if someone behaves for me," he threatened. In compliance, she nodded, and appreciative the man shed his hand from her bruised lips, his own smudged against her for a moment as he grinned._

_"That's a good girl," he rasped. That hand scathing up her dress as he then pulled at her undergarments. "I have heard such radiant stories about you, Fleur," he added. "I'm most pleased to have you as my mate," he proclaimed, "and I am more than anxious to see that thrall of yours simmer when I place you on your knees."_

Fleur Delacour lifted the kettle at the whistling song of it's finish. Turning the knob on the stove she poured the bubbling contents into her cup. Her mind could not deter from her repulsion, nor could she ignore the faintest trace of pleasure that crept along with it as she quivered. Disgusted she placed the cup aside, filling the contents of her sisters as she smiled. Attempting for the moment to forget her past, to reflect it far from her mind as she sighed.

"I cannot believe that my little sister is finally to be married," Fleur replied. She sipped at the steaming liquid. Gabrielle, perched on the nearest barstool, curled her hand around her own mug as she too pursed her lips. "Before me, might I add," Fleur mused, a thoughtful smile setting on both their faces as she continued. "Was it not but months ago, non, that you wished your dolls to have tea with us?" she questioned. Setting the kettle upon the stove, she then pushed herself atop the counter. Being sure to hide what little strength it took from her to do so as she reclaimed her balance with a grin. "Qui, I am most certain you still do so," Fleur teased, and to this Gabrielle sighed.

"Bite your tongue, soeur, that was ages ago," chided the youngest, and the eldest laughed, her hand reaching to set against her sister.

"You might be grown, petit, however you are still to me that troublesome girl in pigtails," Fleur proclaimed. That ever familiar urge to hold her in her arms and steer her far from all that could touch her. To protect her, as she had promised so long ago at her mother's deathbed.

Gabrielle, having sensed her sister's nostalgia, sought for the hand that rest against her leg as she smiled. "He wishes to see you again, Fleur," she expressed, sharing a glance with Fleur as the eldest studied the ring that glistened against her finger. "It has been so long since the tournament. He is most anxious to see you."

Fleur nodded, feigning disinterest, though in her chest she was filled with pride. "Mm, and that has brought us to another topic of discussion altogether," she inclined. Pointing a finger to her sister as she scolded. "You are fraternizing with the enemy."

"It is most unforgivable."

Gabrielle laughed, a heartwarming sound that had Fleur stifling a grin as she sighed. "However, if you must be wed, I should you warn you," she started. "Krum has a rather horrendous appetite."

"He will have you eaten out of house and home, that man had the stomach of a horntail," Fleur hummed, and her sister laughed at her confession.

"Qui, and his appetite has not changed," the youngest informed, and with another sip of her tea, Gabrielle smiled. "He gives me so much happiness, Fleur," she explained, treading off from their banter as she cradled the cup tighter. "There have been times that I do not believe it myself."

"That I am deserving of such a wonderful man," Gabrielle added, and Fleur smiled.

"You are deserving of the world if you so wished to have it, petit," the eldest professed.

Gabrielle Delacour had found her truest love. That receptive heartbeat meant for her and only for her, and in that reason alone Fleur was grateful. That while their inheritance is not often one promising of a hopeful ever after, Gabrielle had been fortunate enough to find it and to see such a love blemish, Fleur was so thankful that it would be her sister to have it.

_"She cannot love you as I can," he slithered, and Fleur flinched at the sound of his belt unbuckled. "You will never long for her touch as you will for mine, and I needn't show you that."_

_"Not when you see it so plainly," he muttered in her ear._

_Fleur had thought to defend herself. In fact, she had thought so much in that lapse of time but doing nothing she succumbed to his touch. Her heart plummeting to her stomach, as her eyes kept to the door that she knew led to her sister's bedroom. "That mudblood cannot give you what you desire, not as I can, and if persuasion is needed than I am more than apt to supply it," he persisted, her stare remaining poised at the wooden frame before them._

"Though you must tell me how you have been, Fleur, as I did not come to boast," Gabrielle prompted, and twirling her spoon the girl met her eyes expectant of a tale. "How are you and Hermione?" she questioned.

Fleur's memories surfaced in her mind. The moments painted as a picture and with a shudder she sighed, hoping she wasn't unconvincing as she started to respond. Though before Fleur could answer her, it was as if on queue the chime of the door clang open, revealing the bushy haired brunette in mention.  
Satchel slung against her shoulder and a defeatist scowl pursed on her mouth. Hermione rushed past the threshold with a rising temper. "That dreadful nuisance of Ronald's left a rotting dung pile on my letter again," she claimed, and the remnants of the letter plopped to the counter. "I have half the mind to send it right back, pigeon dribble and all; the little git," Hermione added, ignoring the huff of feathers that fluttered around her as Ronald's owl brushed past. Hermione and her growing temper rushing past as she presumed her rambling. "Fleur, honestly, must you scatter your clothes over every piece of furniture we own," she muttered. "I love you, darling, I do, but we're not bloody hippogriffs."

Hermione turned to meet Fleur's stare amidst her rant, suddenly noticing their guest as she paused. "Oh," she blinked. Blush cheeks instilled her next response. "Gabrielle, goodness. If I had known you were there I would have not been so," she paused. Hermione sighed in defeat. "Hello," she exclaimed, clearly flustered, and to this Gabrielle giggled.

"Bonjour, Hermione," the youngest returned, standing up to give a more proper greeting as she embraced her. "It is good to see that you are still in such lively spirits," she remarked. "I had feared that no one could keep Fleur, as you say, on her toes," Gabrielle adds, and to this Fleur laughed.

"Her temper would best that of a dragon, Gabi, of this I can assure you," the blonde professed. "It is a part of her charm."

Hermione rolled her eyes at the statement, a handful of clothes then clutched in her hand as she strode towards her lover. Sharing a glance, Fleur seemed to read her expression as the inward need for assurance had crept along her face. The brunette's hand touching her leg as she leant in for a kiss, and Fleur obliged the motion; hoping to relieve her inner doubts as she sighed against her. "I'm glad you are home, mon coeur," said FLeur. "In fact," she continued, pushing off of the counter as she dropped to the floor. "Gabrielle was telling me of her engagement, one of which I highly disapprove of and with you here there is no doubt in my mind that she will now see reason," she muttered, a mock offense showing in her eyes, and Gabrielle shushed her.

"You're incorrigible, love," Hermione answered, a knowing smile brimmed on her lips as she hadn't meant it in spite. "Have you both eaten?" she asked, a hand rising to scathe against her lover's temple. Her intentions being to see her temperature, though she hid the act, a loving brush to Fleur's cheek covering her mothering gesture as Gabrielle smiled at the couples affection.

"Qui, not long ago," the blonde assured her, though leaning against Hermione's arm, the weight of her body was pressed deeper against her and unconvincing of her wellbeing as she masked a smile. "Though Gabrielle saved the wine for your arrival."

Hermione rose her brow at the suggestion. "Oh, she has, has she?" she stated, and to this Gabrielle answered with the clink of a bottle. The brunette chuckled. "Well, I suppose I could use a glass or two," she said, and her eyes drifted to Fleur. "Let's hear about this engagement," Hermione finished, and Gabrielle blushed, eager as she swooned.

It would be hours then that would pass. Hermione holding a supportive hand against Fleur as Gabrielle shared her news. In the midst to which she took a breath she would pause to question about their lives since she had gone on her travels. Eventually, having a touch more wine than she should have, come night fall both Fleur and Hermione had agreed that Gabrielle could not be trusted to make it home safely, and once Hermione had sent word to her awaiting groom, she hurried to prepare her bed for the night.

"Fleur, it's nearing ten," she reminded, tossing a quilt against the arm of the sofa. Cushioned pillows piled in her hand; in her mind, knowing Fleur was past due for her potion, and plopping a pile of clothes against the cushion, Hermione sighed. "Can you manage with her, love?" she asked, knowing she would have to brew up another batch as she noticed Fleur stumbling through the hall.

The blonde steered her sister with half lidded eyes, approaching the sofa with an arm draped around her. "Qui, I have her," she noted, a cautious step guiding them along the path, and Hermione watched; careful a moment before she hurried into the kitchen. "Bonsoir, mon petit," she heard Fleur whisper. Gabrielle's slurred response soon to follow as Fleur placed the quilt lovingly against her.

"Viktor is a good man," Fleur confessed, and stirring the content of the potion, thumbing a pinch of ingredients into the bubbling cauldron, Hermione nodded. "He did much for me during the tournament," she said in thought. Her hand coming to rest at Hermione's waist as her head lulled against her shoulder. "Gabi mentioned that he wishes to see us."

Hermione focused on her stirring. "Perhaps in the coming month, darling, when you've your strength," she breathed. "It's wonderful to see her so happy though." If only their happiness could be obtained so effortlessly, she thought to herself idly.

"Someday we will have that happiness," Fleur promised, and there was a hitch in her breath that the both of them had heard, though it would remain unspoken as Hermione sighed.

_"Remember me when you lean in to claim her lips," he chortled. Leaving her unclothed and ashamed as he snarled. "You're mine, Fleur Delacour."_

_"It's all inevitable."_


	5. Chapter 5

Author's Note: So much support, I love to hear from you lovelies. I'm sad that I've turned a few readers off by my writing, but I hope to keep those that I still have. So please, if you have any constructive feedback, I am always open ears and listening. Thank you again. Also, this chapter too is terribly unedited, please don't take too much offense I'll be cleaning it up come morning.

* * *

Professor McGonagall shifted in her seat. Her eyes poised on the woman sat before her as she listened. Scribbling on a parchment she paused to nudge her glasses upon her nose. Fleur Delacour, hands enlaced on her lap. In time with her words a hovered paperweight spinning around them.

"It is most difficult for me, these dreams," she whispered. "It has become more persistent, in that I cannot ignore them. Not even in my wake do I find comfort anymore," Fleur said.

"It is haunting me."

McGonagall pinched her brow, the ache in her eyes evident of the worries that laced her mind as she broached a subject she had not hoped in their time she would have to speak of. "Your urges, these thoughts, are an indication of your illness worsening," she replied, and Fleur needn't hear it to know of this as she sighed. "I had hoped that it would not come to this, dear, but I believe it's time to tell them," said McGonagall. "You can't keep this burden from them, Fleur. Your family should be comforting you during this time, not pushed away."

Fleur understood her meaning. She was deteriorating. Mere minutes digressing her health all the more further, and Fleur was not blind to that fact. She felt it tearing at her, the core of her trampled upon, and it offered such little comfort to know that in their efforts, in the months that she had persevered; even still she was promised nothing.

"I cannot put them through this, Professor," Fleur confessed. Trembling at the realization, though undoubtedly she had always known as she sighed. "I have found, that it is often at times better not knowing than knowing at all."

If that which is to come cannot be prevented, than what is the harm of a secret kept close. To protect your loved ones from knowing that in their wake approaches your end. "Non, I cannot put them through that hurt. I will not."

That hovered paperweight drooped, thudding to the table with a sounding plop, as the Professor stood from her chair. Her pursed lips straining a smile as she bowed her head. "Forgive me, dear, but that is queue for our departure," the woman ushered. "Perhaps you'll return to see me, come your next appointment?" she stated, muttering it more as a question as she started for the door.

"Qui," Fleur replied. "Perhaps."

Though as the elder Professor took her leave, she stilled at the threshold. Turning around to claim Fleur's arm as she beckoned her in her arms. "That man was a fowl and hated creature, Fleur, but he's gone."

"He's dead, and with that so should your memories," she whispered, and Fleur could hardly hear her then muffled phrase as McGonagall patted her back. "You're mind harbors this dread that no longer exists, Fleur Delacour."

"Though your heart is slowing, he can't have your spirit. Not any longer. So do not let him."

* * *

Fleur arrived to the cottage later that evening. Her conversation with the aging Professor stilled on her mind as her hand encircled around a tonic she had given her before her departure.

"How was your session, love?" Hermione questioned, adjusting her scarf as she prepared for her afternoon errand. Gabrielle long since leaving from the warmth of their home. Bidding her goodbyes earlier that morning as she stumbled into heels and fussed with her hair.

Fleur frowned, choosing to confess but only slightly as she sighed. "It was but another droll examination as always," she tucked the potion away into a cabinet filled with ingredients. "She informed me that Madam Pomfrey has brewed another potion with a much more stronger sedative," Fleur said idly. "But a drop and I suspect I shall rest for months," she remarked, stressing on the strength of the vile and hoping to earn a smile from her lover as Hermione paced toward her.

"Good, I imagine I can dilute it a bit beforehand," Hermione mentioned, encircling her hand around Fleur's waist as she smiled. "By the way, I'll have you know, your sister is a right nuisance when hung-over. I hope you're aware," she added, and Fleur laughed.

"She is a nuisance when sober, bébé," the blonde muttered, rolling her eyes as Hermione tucked her head under her chin. "I have missed this," Fleur replied.

"You've missed my bickering? Because I was about to complain about you as well," Hermione answered. "You forgot to feed Crookshanks against this morning, and needn't I mention we're out of firewood."

Fleur sighed, her arms swaying them in a coy dance as she grinned. She loved that in the face of their turmoil Hermione had been ever persistent in keeping their lives as normal as possible. "Needn't I mention that I love you, mon coeur?" Fleur challenged, and with a gentleness Hermione lightly shoved her from her arms.

"Fine," Fleur confessed. "I shall comply to your bidding," she continued. "Though it is most unpleasing that our embraces have so unexpectedly turned to vices."

Hermione rolled her eyes, ignoring her remark. "Bring another coat, Fleur, and mittens," she ordered, and hearing her lover's mumbling complaints, Hermione tilted her head as she called. "I'll run us a bath for when you return."

This had perked Fleur's attention, whom leaving the home she had all but just entered, said her praises in a stream of French as she left.

"Honestly," Hermione murmured, laughing as she turned toward the cauldron.

* * *

Harry Potter shuffled, his hand held hesitant against the door's wooden panel. Hesitant, he sighed, considering turning around as his wrist faltered. "I suspect if you knock she might answer," confessed a voice from behind him.

He could sense a smile in her words, and hanging his head, at his own expense, Harry laughed. "Fleur," he said. "It's been a long time."

Sidestepping a bed of lilies that lined the front of the cottage, Fleur approached him with a nod. "That it has," she replied. "It would seem guest more than flock toward our door these days," the blonde noted aloud, and to what she had meant Harry wouldn't know as she then gestured with a smile. "Hermione is upstairs if you wish to come inside," she informed. "I was gathering firewood; it would seem to be a muggle tradition that Hermione refuses to let go of."

Harry smiled, reminiscent as he thought of his friend's adamancy on the matter. Refusing to believe that a swish of a wand carried the same comfort that a scent of burning timber could offer her. "I remember the time Ron tried to persuade her otherwise," he recalled, his boot scuffing the snow that smeared against sole along the cobbled path as he smiled. Taking in his surroundings, the cold air beating through his hair, Harry observed the cottage grounds. Ever simple in its design, but throughout the cluttered district it shone bright in the town square. "It's good to see you again, Fleur," he said amongst the bustle of the busied street.

Fleur, brimmed in dirt and a pile of wood held in her hands, managed a smile. "Qui, it is good to see you also, Harry," she agreed. "Though you have traveled far for pleasantries," Fleur mentioned. She tilted her head, though still motioning toward the cottage door as he followed.

"Not for pleasantries so much," Harry replied, and before she could question him, the boy who lived lifted his luggage. "I have a proposition for you; rather the both of you, that I hope you'll consent to."

Fleur lifted her brow, her eyes tracing against the brown tethered suitcase as she absently sought for the door. "Proposition?" she asked, and Harry nods.

"Something of a perilous one, but I assure you, it could be worth your wile," he answered, though still Fleur was uncertain. "I couldn't tell the others, but I found something, Fleur," he whispered. "I found a cure."

The door swung open suddenly, Hermione peering from her place against the threshold. Evident she had heard his words as she crossed her arms at her chest. His eyes never leaving her own as he whispered again in urgency. "I know the cure, Hermione, and I'm sorry that I haven't told you sooner."

"But it comes at a price."


	6. Chapter 6

Author's Note: I hurried this chapter forward. I think the reasoning behind a majority of my writer's block is that I am consistent more in hesitation of my own writing than most and I refuse to let this story go unfinished. I have a twist that is forming, if not slowly, and to those with their theories of Fleur's mate; that secret is set to reveal hopefully in the next chapter for you. Which, if all works out, should be posted sometime after midnight but I won't quote myself on that, haha. Thank you so much for your kind words.

* * *

"It was not my intention, keeping this from you," he started, but no sooner than the words had left his mouth, did Hermione's hand meet his cheek with a sharpened gust of pressure. "Mione, please, would you let me explain—"

"You kept this from me," Hermione cried. Fleur then stepping in between them as the brunette rushed towards him in malice. "Last evening when I all but poured my heart to you, you preached of hope and diligence, but not once did you mention a cure. Not once did you tell me!" she proclaimed.

"I didn't tell you, and with reason," spat Harry. His temper coated more in exhaustion than purpose as he had hoped for a far better meeting than this. "I couldn't confide in anyone, Hermione, not even Ginny," he continued, but Hermione would have none of it as she struggled in Fleur's hold. In the midst of the pair, the Veela resting her hands against the witch's shoulders as she wished to calm her.

Fleur, in her own stemming trepidation, then sought for Hermione's attention. "Bébé, you must calm down. This is not a discussion to be had outside."

Hermione hadn't cared to hear her pleading however as she shrugged from her grasp. Her eyes holding a spite not often seen in the bushy haired witch, as she trembled. "I can't believe you would do this to me! That you would put us through this, and for so long. Not after everything that I have done for you; after everything that we have been through together," she strained from tears as she rasped. "I might have expected this from Ronald, Harry Potter, but not from you."

"Not ever you," she stilled, for a moment quieting, breathless as she reeled.

Having taken her pause as a chance to commend himself, Harry straightened his stance. Timid in his words as he stepped toward her. "It is unforgivable, I know," he hushed. "I can't atone for it, and I can't begin to tell you how sorry I am, but give me a moment to explain," he continued. "Give me a moment, Hermione, and I swear to you, you'll believe me."

Hermione wished to pounce at the promise, though before she had that chance, Fleur's arm engulfed her. "Enough, the both of you," she muttered. Steering them both inside the cottage, the brunette enraged at the gesture as she all but stomped in rebuttal. Fleur sighed, her eyes pleading as she met Harry's expectant stare. "Please, Harry, wait in the parlor room," she said, and grateful he nodded. Meanwhile, Fleur led her lover to their bedroom. In her mind, toiling over the happening as she wondered.

* * *

Her strength lessoned considerably as the emotional bout had torn through her chest as her breath hastened. Heart pounding in her head, though adamant Fleur closed the bedroom door. Spinning around to face Hermione as she pointed to the mattress. "Sit down," she ordered, her tone demanding; undermining the rush of nausea that stormed over her.

"I don't understand why you're so adamant on defending him, Fleur, when you are the one who is suffering because of it," Hermione hastened, inattentive to the blonde rubbing at the throbbing pulse that beat against her temple as she sighed. "And don't you dare tell me to sit down," she murmured under breath, and it was Fleur's turn to ignore her as she watched her pace.

"I am disappointed in you, Hermione," Fleur replied. "Yes it is apparent that he has kept this from you," she added, "though instead of question him about it, you attack him, and blindly as you know nothing to which he has kept to begin with in the first place."

"It is childishness Hermione, and you are much better than that."

Hermione flinched, a plummeting of realization pounding upon her, though in her stubborn nature she was steadfast against admitting. "I'm exhausted of being better, Fleur," she confessed. "The brightest witch of my age," Hermione muttered. "That, darling, is a pedestal that I have long since fallen from, and haven't a single desire to go back to," she said, a hand stringing through her unruly hair.

"I am not better, nor am I smarter than any one other person on this earth, and I am tired of being held to that standard, Fleur. I am so tired of being deemed this righteous little girl, not when all that I have is being taken from me."

"Not when you are being taken from me, Fleur," she cried. "Each moment, slipping further from my grasp, and to hear that he had found a cure. To hear that my friend, my best friend had kept it from me, when each day I have lived knowing it was one moment closer to you not being here," she paused.

"No," she whispered. "I am not better than this, and I do not wish to be."

She collapsed against the mattress, and Fleur unable to see her hurting was soon beside her, enveloping the girl in her arms as her lips brushed against her temple. "Venir ici, bébé," she hushed. Her arms draped around her, pulling her closer as she sighed. "I have you now," she murmured in her ear. Reminiscent of the previous night when Hermione had said the same to her.

"I have you."

Fleur could not presume to know what Harry had kept, but she couldn't hide that sudden hope that seeped inside her. That perhaps, though uncertain, it was not so hopeless after all.

* * *

He had written Ginny not long after his arrival. Proceeding his argument with Hermione he had scratched onto a piece of parchment that he had arrived, mentioning to his fiancée that in time he would write to her again as he folded the letter. His sight resting upon Ronald's owl, his finger thumbing the tuffs of his feathers as he sighed. "Careful not to scratch at the window this time around, Pig," Harry reminded. He tied the scroll of paper to his thin leg. "Ginny will have you tarred and featherless if you come plundering through again," he said, and the owl tilted his head, a hoot being his answer as he soared from the open windowsill.

"Then let us hope your fiancée has left the windowsill open for him," noted Fleur, and spinning Harry near jumped at the sound. "I am afraid that he will never make the distinction for himself," she remarked, remembering herself time and time again when the owl had all but charged into glass.

Harry, in light of the tense air that surrounded them, had smiled. "How is she doing, Fleur?" he asked, and pursed lips would respond.

"That is to be determined," Fleur said. "She is resting for the time being, as you should be," she continued. "You have come a long way from home, I imagine you are exhausted."

Harry shrugged. "To be honest, I'm not tired, not after all of this," he answered. His luggage propped against his lap, guilt lingering around him as he sighed. "You mightn't understand, Fleur, but through it all my purpose was not to hurt you, or Hermione," he explained.

Fleur, needn't be the one to stand in the middle, nor would she, and deciding not to offer a comment to his statement she rustled toward the door. "If you wish to make yourself at home, I will see about that firewood now."

"No, let me, I need the air as it is," Harry pleaded, rustling toward the door though the blonde's arm halted his step.

"Merci, Harry, but I have it from here," she implored. Her hand patting his arm as she sought for her mittens long disposed of against the sofa.

"Fleur, come off it, your as pale as a ghost," Harry expressed. "Allow me to help you, at least," he said, but ignorant to the claim, Fleur muttered.

"Hermione is a most stubborn girl, Harry Potter, but I assure you, I am more so," she smiled. "I'll be fine," she assured, "and perhaps when I have returned, you could share this consequence you spoke of," she finished, and a breath had left her as she then abandoned him to his thoughts.


End file.
